


i'll always be glad you came to stay

by fkaps (orphan_account)



Series: lucases and eliotts no. 1 - infinity [5]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-03-07 07:38:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18868723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/fkaps
Summary: The last thing Lucas expected to happen as he sifted through ancient copies of travel books about Nice written in the 1950s was for Eliott Demaury, world renowned Hollywood movie star, to walk into his store and ask for a recommendation.Or:  a loose rendition of 'Notting Hill'





	i'll always be glad you came to stay

**Author's Note:**

> someone please stop meeee lmao  
> this is a tribute more than a direct ctrl+c and ctrl+v  
> things will def be different, and i swear i will cont with tmotm, my brain just keeps giving me ideas i cant not write about

Lucas had grown up surrounded by books. 

He was raised by parents, a professor and librarian by trade, who'd kept their home teeming with novels, magazines, catalogues from a multitude of eras collected over years spanning prior to his birth and over the course of his childhood. Lucas would fall asleep to the sound of his mother's enchanting voice, animating fables penned by Aesop, the works of Roald Dahl split up into single chapters throughout the week, and his most favourite, excerpts from Le Petit Prince she would recite by heart before laying a kiss atop his head and wishing him good night. In the morning he would wake up from dreams of giant peaches and persevering tortoises to the whistle of a kettle, his father reading the newspaper while his mother skimmed through potential inventory for her workplace. 

When his parents divorced, Lucas stayed behind with his mother in the family's original two bedroom flat on the outskirts of downtown Paris, devoid of any remnants reminding him of a father figure that may have previously existed, save for piles of books left in his wake deemed too troublesome to accompany his departure. From there, he would commute back and forth, lycee to home, university to work to home, and so it went on, the pathway slightly altering itself as time went by, but ultimately landing him in the same place that it always would.

The bookstore job was meant to be temporary. A past colleague of his mother, Mme Boivard, a sweet older woman with no children of her own, hired him knowing their situation when Lucas's mother fell ill. Following Mme Boivard's stint at the library his mother previously worked at, she retired and revamped the bottom portion of her two level townhouse into a niche shop housing an array of eclectic titles, from pre-World War cookbooks to first edition dystopian paperbacks. Since its inception, the store had attracted locals and tourists alike, its location central to many of Paris's renowned cafes and food stalls.

Mme Boivard had managed to make a healthy living, despite her age and growing forgetfulness, taking it upon herself to reach out to Lucas first and offer him a part time job when she heard through the grapevine that Mme Lallemant was let go by the library upon signs of her deteriorating health growing more noticeable. Adamant on ensuring Lucas wouldn't fall dependent on a severance cheque that would eventually run out, she paid him generously for essentially supervising as she took on the more involved tasks of running a business, like ordering stock and maintaining the upkeep of the bookstore itself. 

And for awhile, things were great, if not redundant.

If it wasn't his fear of failure, it was his fear of being left alone, and when the world had it out for him, it really didn't go easy. His med school acceptance came with notice of his mother's diagnosis worsening, a shot at the life he'd always craved suddenly further away than it had ever been, even prior to its confirmation.

That was then.

Now, it was six years later, Lucas was twenty seven, and had been relegated to pseudo manager of the same bookstore he previously vowed was only a placeholder occupation while he got his life back together. Mme Boivard was somewhere in Bali with her long time partner turned wife, and his mom had passed peacefully in her own bed with Lucas by her side some months ago. 

His days became an accepted rotation between Mme Boivard's store and the same apartment he'd lived in since he was born, dreams long forgotten and tucked away in the recesses of his mind where he thought about them less often as days passed by in a flurry of regrets and quiet acceptance. 

Tuesday afternoons in the shop are generally quiet. The FedEx delivery truck stops by the shop every two weeks with a shipment, one that Lucas had been primed to curate by Mme Boivard before her departure. Secondhand inventory was sourced primarily from contacts left behind by the owner, while newer material was delivered in bulk, the latter attracting the majority of the store's clientele

As Lucas shuffled among titles, ranging from suggested itineraries of the French countryside and almanacs from the early twentieth century, chimes hanging over the entrance sounded off. The customer stepped inside, lingering by the poetry collection lining the wooden shelves in the front corner of the shop. Lucas eyed his movements, equal parts curious and bored, waiting for the right moment to intercede and offer his assistance.

"Can I help you find anything?" 

The man, dressed in all black save for the long, tan overcoat draped over his tall figure, whirls around from his inspection of the display, lowering sunglasses that covered almost half of his face to peer at Lucas directly. 

_Holy shit._

The last thing Lucas expected to happen as he sifted through ancient copies of travel books about Nice written in the 1950s was for Eliott Demaury, world renowned Hollywood movie star, to walk into his store.

But apparently, shit happens, and said movie star has manifested himself in Lucas's little corner of Paris, unprecedented, a miracle if Lucas had ever seen one.

_Close your mouth, you dumbass._

"Are you okay?" the man, Eliott, questions, looking at Lucas warily. 

"Uh-" Lucas starts less than intelligently, "Yeah! Yeah, fine."

"So," Eliott trails when Lucas doesn't speak further, "To answer your question, yes, you can help me. Probably not the way you're used to helping customers, but it's help all the same."

"What?"

Eliott glances outside the window nervously, almost running towards the pile of newly delivered novels behind the counter where Lucas stood, after catching sight of whatever startled him outside. 

"Wha-" 

"Please," Eliott begs, "Just- just run with it, okay?"

Lucas doesn't have time to question him further, as the noise of chimes interrupts the conversation and a man with graying hair and the beginnings of a potbelly rushes inside, flustered and breathing heavily. A DSLR hangs off his shoulder, uncapped and worn from what looks like extensive usage.

"Can I help you?" Lucas calls out from his position, attempting to ignore Eliott who was crouched beside him.

The guy looks alarmed at being acknowledged, scratching his head as if he was confused over how he ended up inside the store in the first place. "Just browsing," he mumbles, scanning the interior furtively, camera bumping at his hip, "No one else came in here before me, did they?"

Eliott catches Lucas's attention from behind the stacks of books and the cash register he had concealed himself with, exaggeratedly motioning a large 'X' with his arms at a confused Lucas.

"Uh- nope," Lucas responds, "Been a pretty slow day so far."

The man looks increasingly anxious, vision fixating on the heap beside Lucas, starting to amble in it's direction. He might be unsure about what exactly was going on, but Lucas was attuned enough to know that Eliott's rushed movements were probably not indicative of good news. Clearing his throat, he stumbles over towards the paparazzo, stopping him in his tracks while placing a non intrusive hand on his arm.

"Perhaps I could interest you in some of our newest items in stock?" Lucas suggests, picking out a random cookbook from the pile, ' _30 Recipes for 30 Days - What to Eat to Achieve Your Perfect Body_ '.

 _Great_.

The man looks at him, visibly disgruntled as he mutters a 'no thanks', making a hasty exit without a second thought.

"Thanks for that." Eliott says standing up, brushing off imaginary dirt on his knees as he flashes a disarming smile at Lucas. Lucas, momentarily starstruck, rouses out of his stupor when Eliott's warmth dissipates and transforms into a guarded look, eyes impassive and arms crossing defensively across his chest.

"Am I going to find out what exactly 'that' was about?" Lucas asks, cutting through the awkward silence that had settled around them. Some of the lightness resurfaces in Eliott, arms uncrossing and glare softening as he returns Lucas's remark breezily.

"I'm sure you can infer."

"Humour me anyway." 

"Okay," Eliott says, "That guy has been after me since I left my hotel room this morning. Your shop-"

"Technically not my shop."

"Right, technically not your shop, was the first store that I came across empty enough to get away from him and anyone else looking for a picture or autograph."

"Gee," Lucas says, mildly offended, echoing Eliott's previous words, "Thanks for that." 

"That's not what I meant!" Eliott amends immediately, "I just- I needed the escape. And I'm very grateful you played along."

The pair stare at one another, Lucas adjusting to the star's appearance increasingly as time passes, awe quickly turning to irritation at the disruption of his schedule. "So," Lucas switches the subject, "What's a world famous celebrity doing in my barren bookstore this early in the week?"

"I thought this place wasn't yours," Eliott counters, "And I believe the words I used were 'empty enough', not barren."

"Besides the point," Lucas says dismissively, "I think I deserve an explanation."

"You do," Eliott acquiesces, "But maybe we can save that for later. If I'm not wrong, I was offered help before all of that," he says, referencing the incident, "Happened."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah," Eliott affirms, "Seriously. Maybe you can find me something worth reading during this godforsaken excursion."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Okay," Lucas starts, maneuvering his way through the aisles at the back of the store, gesturing at Eliott to follow him. 

 _Eliott Demaury_ , he thinks, _Eliott_ freaking _Demaury was in Mme Boivard's store asking him for a recommendation_. 

He would have laughed in the face of whoever suggested it was a possibility before today, probably would have done the same even as it happened at this exact moment. 

Lucas stops at the section marked with a 'W', tiptoeing to grasp a first edition _'To the Lighthouse'_ sandwiched between the other Virginia Woolf novels and a tattered copy of _'I Married a Dead Man'_. In his rush to pick out the title, Lucas causes the book beside it to dislodge itself as well, and tumble out. He braces himself for the inevitable crash on his face, confused when the impact fails to occur after a couple of seconds.

Eliott's pressed up, chest to chest against Lucas who's sure the taller man can feel his heart beating rapidly underneath his own. He's reached up to stop the book from dropping, catching it with his hand. 

"This one," Lucas breathes out, the blue of Eliott's eyes piercing as they focus on him, "It's one of my favourites."

"I'll take your word for it."

The two walk back towards the storefront, side by side, Lucas maintaining a measured distance between them for the sake of his own sanity.

"Aren't you going to check me out?"

"Huh?" Lucas stammers, Eliott answering with a pointed look at the cash register, "Oh, sure. Yeah, follow me."

He takes the book from Eliott, relaying its price that Eliott matches with a mess of bank notes without any attempts at bargaining. Not that Lucas expected it either way.

"You need a receipt?"

"Depends," Eliott replies, "Does it have your number on it?" 

Lucas nearly chokes.

"The store's phone number," he clarifies knowingly, almost smug, "In case I have any questions. Or further needs."

Lucas narrows his eyes at the flirting, fully aware that the other man was probably messing with him simply because he could. 

"It does," Lucas says, simultaneously wrapping the book in customary wrapping paper and tying it off with a scrap of ribbon, "It also has the owner's email in case of any pressing matters." 

Eliott quiets at that, expression dimming and closed off at Lucas's abrupt tone the latter wishes he could take back the moment he uses it. Instead of apologizing, he takes out a pad of unmarred receipts from the drawer under the counter, drafting a copy for Eliott that he rips out after ensuring the details have transferred through the carbon paper placed underneath for the store records. 

Lucas passes the book and receipt to Eliott, hands lingering midair following the exchange, wanting to prolong the interaction, knowing that it wasn't practical.

"Appreciate the help," Eliott says, raising the book and smiling as he walks backwards towards the entrance, glancing at Lucas's signature on the receipt confirming payment, "Lucas."

"Sure?" Lucas manages to stutter out at Eliott's retreating form, the last syllable pitched slightly higher than the others, making the assurance sound more like a question.

 _Did that just happen?_  

The rest of day goes by uneventfully, Yann extending what feels like a pity dinner invite after Lucas sends a picture of the meager offerings his fridge housed to the group chat after he locks up for the day. Chloe, bubbly and borderline unbearable as always, offers to set him up over dessert with one of her acquaintances from the firm she worked at, Lucas politely declining as he usually did whenever one of his friends tried their hands at matchmaking. 

His friends, as caring as they were, seemed to mistake his lack of direction for loneliness. And perhaps he was lonely, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let Chloe in on that, lest he be subject to blind dates by the dozen from not only her, but also the rest of his friend group once they undoubtedly found out.

"Sorry about that," Yann says when Chloe retreats upstairs, claiming an early start the following morning, "She's just trying to help."

"I know."

"She's worried, Lucas," he continues, "We all are. I know your mom dying was hard on you, but it's been months now. She wouldn't want to see you like this either-"

"If you know-" Lucas cuts in, swallowing back tears, "If you know that, then why bring it up?"

"Lucas-" Yann attempts again, raising his hands defensively when Lucas glares at him, silencing his efforts, "Alright, I'll stop."

He thanks Yann for the dinner, asking him to pass the message along to Chloe as well, heading home and waiting for the cycle to repeat. 

And it does. Because if there's one thing Lucas knows, it always does. Everyday, besides Sunday, he'll open the shop at precisely 09:00, close at 18:00, then go home for some variation of dinner, whether it was accompanied by friends or eaten alone, and finally, fall into bed exhausted from absolutely nothing, whatever Netflix show he chose that night lulling him to sleep.

Eliott Demaury was an anomaly, a deviation from his otherwise normal routine. He was an anomaly, until he wasn't, because anomalies were unexpected and didn't make reappearances the next day, clad in a jeans and hoodie combination that had no business looking as good on anyone as they did on the man.

"You're back?"

"I am," Eliott confirms, hands shoving themselves inside the pockets of the same coat he donned yesterday as the door shut behind him, "Don't sound too disappointed."

"Not disappointed," Lucas reassures, "Just- surprised, I guess."

"Why's that?"

"Are you kidding me?" Lucas says incredulously, "You're saying its completely normal for a world famous celebrity to be found not once, but twice in a random Parisian bookstore?"

"What do you think world famous celebrities are doing on a normal basis?"

"Definitely not frequenting random Parisian bookstores."

"Alright," Eliott defers, "If you must know, I'm in the area for a shoot. I had some down time and figured I'd explore the city a bit, which is harder to do unnoticed than I thought it would be."

"Can't imagine it's easy," Lucas says, "All the fame, those annoying fans hanging on your every word, head over heels in love with you." 

"See, I know you're being sarcastic but it's a genuine concern," Eliott retorts heatedly, "Having people analyze your everything you say, good or bad, second guessing every move you make so that it doesn't end up following you around for the rest of your life-"

"Alright, I get it," Lucas surrenders, "Sorry for assuming."

"It's okay."

Silence.

"Can I help you find another book?"

"Actually, yeah," Eliott says, "I haven't finished the other one yet, but I wanted your opinion in case I didn't have the chance to drop by later on."

Lucas brightens at his request, excited at the chance to do what he did best. It was a practiced technique, one he'd picked up from years of observing Mme Boivard in her element as she selected varying titles for willing customers from the extensive collection scattered around the store. It was also one he barely had the chance to employ, most visitors knowing what they wanted, or stopping by for the purpose of casual browsing versus actually purchasing anything. He handpicks books from different ends of the store, aware of Eliott's eyes boring into the back of his head the entire time. Poetry by Neruda, another work by Woolf, 'Norwegian Wood', his wild card and one of the relatively more contemporary novels in store. If his sense had withstood the passing of time, Eliott was bound to like at least one of them.

"Here," he says, laying the stack upon the table Eliott was leaning against, "Based on my professional judgement," he says jokingly, "You'll definitely enjoy one of them."

"And what exactly is the basis of this professional judgement?"

 _Oh_ , Lucas freaks out, _he's definitely flirting now_. 

"A combination of your personality, general likes and dislikes."

"You can tell all of that from two visits?"

"It's an art form," Lucas states confidently, "Plus Eliott Demaury's character traits are pretty much public knowledge."

"Is that so?" 

The query sounds amused and annoyed at the same time. Lucas can tell he's bordering on upsetting Eliott, and for some reason the prospect bothers him more than he's willing to admit.

"Well," Lucas starts, "You're obviously passionate about your interests, given how you seem to not care that you're here to work and keep coming here instead," pausing as Eliott laughs out loud, composing himself so Lucas continues, "There's an air of solitude around you, this desire to be left alone while the world around you refuses to let it happen."

Lucas stills, at Eliott's lack of response, afraid that he's overstepped. He gazes at the other man hesitantly, receiving an encouraging look that pushes him to finish his thought. 

"And clearly, you liked Virginia Woolf," he finishes lightheartedly, "Otherwise you wouldn't have come back today."

The corner of Eliott's lips perk up at Lucas's explanation, running his fingers along the spine of the books thoughtfully.

"I'll take all of them."

"Are you sure?"

"Ring me up." Eliott asserts, already heading in the direction of the register, stack in tow.

"Do you have time to read all of these while you're working?" Lucas wonders out loud as he packages each book separately, placing them in a paper bag and starting to draft Eliott's receipt.

"We make time for the things we like to do." 

"Even if it's unrealistic?"

"I'm doing it now aren't I?"

The double meaning behind his words don't escape Lucas's attention. It takes all his focus on the task at hand to not visibly react to it. The slight pink tinting his cheeks however refuses to retreat, one he plans to attribute to the heating in case Eliott brings it up.

Thankfully, maybe not thankfully, he doesn't.

"Thanks again," Eliott says, smiling wistfully, accepting the bag with his purchases from Lucas, fingers brushing against the other man's as he grips the handle, "Looks like I'm doing a lot of that lately."

"You don't have to," Lucas points out, "I'm just doing my job."

"Still," Eliott says, "You could be doing a lot worse."

_Oh- what the hell._

"Would you like to join me for dinner?" Lucas blurts out, "As a thank you."

"What are you thanking me for?" Eliott responds confusedly.

"It can be your thank you to me."

"I don't think that's how it works."

"Let's just say it is." 

Eliott stares at him blankly.

"Are you asking Eliott Demaury, the movie star," he says, tone vulnerable, slightly accusing, "Or are you asking me?" 

"I'm asking you," Lucas declares, grinning as he continues teasingly, "The guy with the weird affinity for hole in the wall bookstores."

The smile he receives in response almost makes him forget how to breathe.

"Dinner sounds great."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know the drill. i'll edit this when i wake up hahaha  
> p.s. hi stan twitter lol


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